


all we’ve ever been

by mieczyslyds



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, brief mentions of scallison and jydia, kinda character study i guess, takes place over seasons 1-6a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mieczyslyds/pseuds/mieczyslyds
Summary: Lydia and falling in love with Stiles.





	all we’ve ever been

**Author's Note:**

> HI!
> 
> This was originally written for my series of one-shots during my wattpad phase (I know. Tragic.), but thanks to the girls from boob voyage™ I decided to translate it. It took some time and ruining my nails (language barrier means anxiety), but here it is. As you probably have guessed by now, English isn't my first language, so there might be some mistakes. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this shortly after 6x05 aired, so the last scene doesn't fit the canon anymore, but I still wanted to keep it.
> 
>  
> 
> title from Anchor by Novo Amor.

 

 

 

 

> _The way you said "I love you"_   
>  _32\. In a way I can’t return._

 

 

Everything is coming to an end.

Hearts are beating too fast. Breaths are too shallow.

The only thing she can see is his face, illuminated by the light of streets lamps outside his car.

He speaks to her with a voice of a man who knows no fear, which is ridiculous, actually, because it’s him who should feel what she does. Paralysis. Adrenaline so strong, it makes you incapable of doing anything. He’s comforting her, but it should be the other way around. Those sweet words should be whispered from her lips. The only thing they are able to do is making a promise he knows she won’t keep. Because he will be erased anyway.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Now she has to face the truth and lose a loved one once again. Let go of his hand and watch him being taken from this world.

Maybe it’s selfish, but she wishes she could disappear with him.

He would never let that happen, but she doesn’t care.

Now she can only look into his eyes, which are smiling when he tilts his head slightly and says almost conversationally…

 

* * *

 

**Remember how you were the first girl I ever danced with?**

 

“Fields Medal”, she corrects Stiles and he looks dumbfounded. Ironic.

“What?”

Lydia rises from her seat, trying not to wrinkle her pastel pink dress and comes up to him. Keeping in mind that this is Stiles Stilinski, she stands a little too close to him and tries to ignore the way he catches his breath when she touches his shoulder. She gives him a fake smile, which might not be that fake at this moment, but she hasn’t decided about that yet.

“Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics”, explains Lydia and Stiles looks at her like she’s a piece of details haunting his mind, not material enough to be able to touch them.  “A Fields Medal's the one I'll be winning.”

She doesn’t tell him (because he doesn’t need to know that) that she appreciates the speech he made a moment ago. Everyone knows Lydia because of her looks and social status, which is a result of being in a relationship with a certain Jackson Whittemore. Who would have thought that Stilinski would crack up her code and discover that it’s only a mask. Who would have thought that Stilinski would see through it and uncover something Lydia hides so carefully away from the whole world.

Maybe he’s worth her while.

So she takes his hand, leading him onto the dance floor and ignores people staring curiously at them. She has her honor and right now, she doesn’t have to be ashamed of Stiles. Not tonight.

A couple of upbeat songs were played, so now it’s time to slow dance. Lydia is really glad, because she doesn’t think a guy with ADHD would be able to dance properly in a faster pace and she definitely doesn’t want to ruin her hair, thank you very much.

She unceremoniously wraps her arms around his shoulders and Stiles clears his throat awkwardly when he hesitantly places his hands on her waist. Lydia sends him one last comforting smile and lets him gently rock them before she looks somewhere around the gym. After a few minutes she decides he is not the worst dancer.

She wasn’t expecting that. She was prepared for bruised feet and uncomfortable jumping from one leg to another. But now she has to admit, the slow rhythm of the song and the way Stiles twirls her, causing her dress to flow around her body, make her feel relaxed. Lydia rests her forehead on his shoulder and this makes him feel more brave, so his long fingers move down her back and rest just below the bow tied over her waist. She doesn’t mind.

Lydia wonders who taught him that. Stiles was only nine when his mother died and she definitely wasn’t able to teach him how to dance in the last years of her life. Was it his dad? Did he unwillingly take the role of a partner and lasted through the first moves of his only son? Or maybe was it Mrs. McCall? She’s his best friend’s mother, so he probably didn’t have a problem with asking her for help. Maybe he practiced with Scott in his room.

She remembers the first time she danced with Jackson. The second semester of their freshman year. They were at a party at some random guy’s place and when a cheesy ballad came through the speakers, he possessively grabbed her hips and brought her close to him. A few hours later she allowed him take off her bra in the backseat of  his Porsche.

The way Stiles is holding her is different. He’s careful. He’s respectful. And she doesn’t remember if someone has ever held her like that.

Lost in her thoughts, Lydia doesn’t notice that the song has changed and now they’re wrapped up in a voice of a man singing _Your eyes, your eyes tell me everything. The first the last and in between, that’s everything._

Her hand moves up his bicep, her memories flow through her head with a speed of sound. She feels dazed.

No. She has to find him.

Stiles notices that something is wrong.

“You okay?”, he asks.

She looks at him, confused, before she quickly gathers her thoughts and smiles politely at him. “Uh… I just… I need a little break.”

Stiles swallows and murmurs “You mean, you need to find Jackson.”

Oh. He saw through her mask again. Lydia nods.

“Okay”, he says and lets her drag him with her, while the couples around them sway to the lyrics _You’re not just a girl, you’re more like the air and sea. I want you so desperately and nothing’s gonna keep us apart._

She has no idea that in a few months – or maybe in the infinite amount of years – she’ll hear them again, running in her blood-stained dress, trying to find Stiles in the labyrinth of his mind.

 

* * *

 

**Remember how I had a crush on you freshman year…**

 

Lydia’s heels click against the floor of a hallway and her perfect curls jump up and down with every step as she makes her way to the next class. Her hips move from side to side in a tight-fitting skirt, her lips are painted red.  She feels everyone staring at her, boys and girls, freshmen and seniors. Even though she’s been in this school only for a semester and a half, she already got the desired reputation in this meaningless social ladder. Now she walks around the building like she’s the one who runs the place.

It’s possible that she received the respect thanks to having a 3 years older boyfriend named Brandon Hathaway. It’s not like Lydia was going to be with him for long, anyway. Brandon was handsome, good at lacrosse and a great kisser, but his only purpose was giving her what she needed the most. And when he fulfilled her wish, she told him they’re not going to be a thing no more and it’s better for both of them to part their ways. He asked her what he did wrong, but she had already turned around and left his house.

Lydia Martin has gained control but the game is still on and she needs to play it along her rules.

If she wants to be completely powerful, she has to think about her every step.  Carefully pick out her outfit, blush her cheeks, surround herself with certain people. Everything begins in high school.

Which means that Lydia also has to hide the fact that she gets straight A’s on every test. That she knew all the answers for those questions when she was ten. Being a genius isn’t respected and Lydia can’t risk losing everything she worked so hard for. Outsmarting everyone needs to wait.

A blonde guy walks past her. She smiles at him and his face becomes tomato red in a second. He’s cute. He deserves to see her lips curled up.

The game is still on.

But she isn’t pleased when a random kid runs into her on the corner of the hallway, knocking off the notes from her hands. They fall next to her feet and Lydia groans before looking at the intruder. He has a buzzcut, a baggy flannel and a face sprinkled with moles.

Oh, right. Stilinski. The sheriff’s kid.

“Can you be more careful?”, she snaps, giving him a glare. “Or maybe the simple act of looking around yourself is too much for you?”

Stiles’ jaw drops and then his every limb begins to live its own life. He jumps, grabbing her arm.

“Oh my God, Lydia! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Is everything alright? Jesus, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m fine”, Lydia cuts him off, backing away from his touch. She sighs and forces a smile. “Could you help me with these?”

“Uh, yeah..Yes!”, he responds a bit too enthusiastically and crouches in a second, picking up the notes. Before Lydia can join him, he’s already standing, reading a page. “Riemann Hypothesis?”, he asks curiously.

Fuck.

She tears them from his hands right away. “I didn’t ask you to look at them.”

“Right, right, sorry.”, he apologizes. “But isn’t this stuff for, like, seniors?”

“This is none of your business”, she snarls, causing Stiles to take a step back. She definitely doesn’t need him to know what she’s doing. Shit, he might have already guessed.

Her expression calms. “I’m supposed to give them to my friend.”

Stiles doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything, because suddenly Scott McCall appears from behind his back, clearly shocked with what he’s witnessing. Lydia clears her throat and walks away. She’s sure that Stiles is still looking at her, so she’s relieved when she finally enters the classroom, falling onto her seat. She hides her crumpled notes in her bag, just to be sure.

That guy is the last person she wanted to run into. Lydia’s aware that he’s pretty smart, so he’s definitely suspecting something now. She can only hope his poor popularity won’t help him reveal the truth, if he turned out to be a gossip type.

Discreetly, she pushes the bag under the seat, away from curious eyes. The game is still on.

No one is allowed to know that.

 

* * *

 

**…sophomore year…**

 

 

She should have predicted that going ice skating with Allison, Scott and Stiles meant not having any sort of interaction with those two lovebirds. Seriously, they can’t keep their eyes off each other, so Lydia shouldn’t have been expecting them to keep their attention on her. Lovely.

The situation looks a bit different when it comes to their second third-wheel.

He gives a lot of attention. _A lot_. He basically became her shadow and she has no idea how to get rid of him.

She knows exactly who he was talking about, when he referred to couples as perfect combinations. His speech was quite adorable, but if he thinks he has any chance with her, he needs to move on. And that’s why she spilled a bucket of cold water on his head, playing dumb and cooed over their best friends sitting nearby. She almost burst with laughter at the hurt look on his face, but unfortunately, some crushes need to be killed immediately before they turn into something worse.

Now, Lydia glides gracefully across the ice and despite cold air hitting her face, she finally feels warm. She doesn’t remember the last time she had skates on her feet. She did figure skating as a child and was amazing at it. But the tight-fitting costumes made her butt look too big, in her opinion, and the whole hobby was ditched as soon as the realization came. The skills stayed, though.

Lydia swings her leg slightly and starts twirling, her hair melting with the outside world in front of her eyes. After a few second she stops and makes a circle, coming towards Stiles, whose mouth is open in awe. The girl smiles at him and tilts her head slightly when she gets closer. His eyes are filled with pure admiration.

Okay, if he keeps his actions towards her in strictly friendly manners, spending time with him isn’t that bad. And since Scott and Allison are living in their own little bubble, she might as well try to socialize with the boy standing in front of her.

“Well… Come on”, she grabs his fingers and drags him with her.

They skate hand-in-hand for a while, before they make a turn and see Scott, flying through the air and hitting the ground with his face. Stiles drops her hand and bends over, laughing violently. Lydia giggles.

“Jesus, it feels so good to see him break his legs”, says Stiles when he finally lets go of his stomach. “Usually I’m the one who can’t do anything right”.

“Not everyone can be an expert in everything”, she responds, gliding around him in circles.

“Except for you. Like seriously, when did you learn to do that?”

“Figure skating when I was little”, Lydia says like it’s nothing.

Stiles shakes his head. “Of course.”

They spend the rest of their time racing and bickering. Lydia discovers with delight that a conversation with Stiles Stilinski can be a challenge. For her every word he responds with a ten more. He’s witty as hell. But the charm is broken when he insists that he can skate backwards and yes, he manages to do that. For a second.

His legs are thrown from underneath his body and he falls on the ice with a _thump_.

“Oh fu-“, he groans, lying on his back.

Lydia laughs, standing above him. “Now Scott must be the one who’s happy” 

“Nah”, Stiles rubs his head. “He’s used to it.”

“Are you okay?”

He quickly touches his body, as if the fall could make him lose every limb. “Um, yup. Yup. I’m okay. I don’t need CPR. I’m just gonna lay here. It’s quite comfortable.”

“I got a First Aid Certification, but this doesn’t mean I’d resuscitate you right away.”

Stiles grins, showing teeth whiter than the ice under him. “You’re amazing.”

Lydia smiles and shrugs. “Someone has to be”

Maybe she doesn’t need to turn away from him completely.

 

* * *

 

**…junior year?**

 

Allison is dead.

Lydia wakes up. Allison is dead. Lydia goes to school. Allison is dead. Lydia looks at the clock in class. Allison is dead.

Tick-tock. Allison is dead. Tick-tock. Allison is gone. Tick-tock. Allison isn’t coming back.

Allison is dead and Lydia feels like she took her soul with her.

On She-doesn’t-know-what-day She-doesn’t-know-what-month Lydia doesn’t go home after school. She can’t remember how she got there, but when she comes to her senses, she finds herself standing in front of the door which seems to belong to another reality. When her fingertips touch a cold handle, Lydia can’t shake off the feeling that she’s entering a long-forgotten shelter.

She acts like she’s on autopilot.  She opens the door and walks into a dark hall.

Allison is dead.

Lydia steps into a hallway.

Allison is gone.

She finds the room.

Allison isn’t coming back.

Stiles.

His bedroom has changed diametrically since the last time she’s been there. The mosaic of pictures and red strings is gone, revealing naked, blue walls. There are no newspapers, no police documents on his desk. His drawer is accompanied only by a framed drawing of a leafless tree, made by her a thousand years ago. And despite wrinkled shirts thrown on the floor, the room seems… empty.

Just like him. He’s sitting at the edge of his bed and raises his head for a moment, but drops his gaze away as soon as he sees who came to visit. No words of greeting are exchanged and after a couple of seconds, Lydia quietly joins him on the bed. She can sense every muscle in his body stiffen and the tension is getting heavier.

In another life, someone would make a joke. In another life, their vocal chords would work at their top speed. But that life disappeared with Allison’s last breath and nothing, absolutely nothing will be the same.

They’re surrounded by silence. The girls stares into the dust dancing in the sunlight and feels burned out.

Allison is dead and Lydia misses the boy sitting beside her.

A minute, then two, then thirteen pass before a shaky breath escapes his lips and Lydia’s heartbeat picks up.

“Lydia-“, begins Stiles, his voice scratchy and suddenly she’s nauseous.

She shakes her head because she knows what he’s about to say and she doesn’t want to hear any of it.

The fall silent again and time seems to flow so slow, before Stiles starts again. “Lyd-“

“No”, she cuts him off, looking at him. His eyes are burning a hole in the floor.

“I kill-“

“No.”

“Listen-“

“It wasn’t you”, Lydia says firmly.

“I killed her”, Stiles says through his teeth. The words hit her, making her feel dizzy. “Allison is dead because of me.”

His eyes are closed and a tear escapes one of them, running down towards his chin. He curled his fists, crushing the comforter between his fingers.

“Stiles”, Lydia whispers. His face twists in pain at the sound of his name. “Please, look at me.”

Stiles opens his eyes, but doesn’t direct his gaze at her at first. His stare seems to be emotionless, but when he finally looks at her, she can clearly see how much he’s hurting.

“It wasn’t you”, she repeats. “ He… took over you. Controlled you. Played with you like a doll.”

“I remember everything I did”, he responds flatly. “It’s all on me.”

“It’s on all of us.”

“Lydia.”

“It’s true, Stiles… I predicted this. I left a message on her car window, I told her not to look for me. I could have _stopped_ this.”

Now it’s her turn to close her eyes and sob quietly. She lets her arms shake for a while before she gasps for air and swallows down tears.

“I can’t believe you’re still able to talk to me. To even look at me”, Stiles murmurs and when he sees her confused expression, he continues. “I tortured you. In Oak Creek.”

“Nogitsune tortured me, not you. You were only used.”

“He did that with my hands. Everything he’s done to you… I did that too.”

The boy rests his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands. The room is filled with the sound of him crying and Lydia cannot resist the urge of doing that as well. Because it hurts and it’s too much and Allison is dead and she finally understands that…

If somewhere deep down there’s still a piece of that old Stiles, the one who told her he would go out of his mind if she died… If he hasn’t been destroyed yet… It means that this Stiles, sobbing next to her, is so broken, because he can’t forgive himself for hurting her, no matter in what form he has been.

Because he still loves her.

She wants to tell him that she doesn’t blame him in any way. That she misses him. Misses the friendship they once shared.

She’s afraid to tell him that she’s not completely sure if he’s only a friend.

Allison is dead and Lydia doesn’t want to lose another person she cares about.

She can’t find the right words, so when she gently touches Stiles, trailing her fingers along his tense arm, she makes a promise to herself.

They’ll come back to each other. They’ll heal each others scars. She’ll help him, she’ll pick up his pieces, just like he tried to make her whole so many times before. And even though she needs help as well, she won’t leave him.

...Maybe, eventually, they could be a start of something new.

But her vow is broken the day Malia Tate enters the building of Beacon Hills High School.

 

* * *

  
**Remember how you saved my life?**

 

Lydia is sure she’s watching this in slow motion.

Stiles is painted purple, red and blue, glowing in the neon lights. He’s trembling, but his steps are steady as he gets closer to Scott, who decided to become his own executioner. It only takes dropping a smoke flare into the puddle surrounding him to make his name belong to the past.

His best friend’s name seems to be coming from far away when he speaks, carefully choosing his words.

“Scott, just listen to me, okay? You’re not no one, okay? You’re someone, you’re…”, he stops, sniffling. “Scott, you’re my best friend, okay? And I need you…”

They’re quivering, trying to stop their tears from falling down their faces.

Of course they need each other. They’ve been through everything together. Every wound, every fall, every fail. Excited talks about first kisses. Late-night walks around the woods in search of a dead body. Miserably watching, how death wraps itself around them tighter and tighter.

They're like a deity. Carrying on their seventeen year old shoulders this cruel world, that was brutally shoved onto them.

“Scott, you’re my brother”, the last words come out as a sob.

And right in this moment, Lydia realizes that Stiles Stilinski loves unconditionally.

Something big grows in her throat, mercilessly blocking out the air from her lungs, when Stiles’ foot touches the gasoline.

“All right, so... so if you're gonna do this, then…”, he wraps his fingers around the werewolf’s wirst, taking the burning flare from him. “ I think you're just gonna have to take me with you.”

Stiles Stilinski is ready to die for the most important people in his life. He’s ready to let the fire consume his skin, if that only would ensure him an eternity with his brother from another mother, whom he loves more than he would if they were related in blood.

There’s so much sacrifice in him, too much for his age. Lydia can’t imagine how a person, ready to step after his friend into a deathly fuel, must feel. The words “I would go to hell for you” now taste bitter on her tongue and the girl feels an urge to spit.

Stiles throws the flare away and it falls somewhere on the cold pavement. He’s breathing heavily with Scott, both boys overwhelmed with emotions and a possibility of dying together.

Lydia notices that her eyes are filled with tears as well. She looks over at Allison, who tries not to cry, her fist curled next to her mouth. The soft breeze is playing with the hair, tickling her forehead.

Wind.

Scott and Stiles are still standing in gasoline-soaked shoes, when the flare rolls back to them. In a few second, they will die.

For the first time Lydia doesn’t think, but acts instinctively.

“NO!”, she cries out and throws herself onto Stiles’ back. They hit the ground and the oxygen is pushed out of their lungs.

She clutches the material of his hoodie, looking at the explosion behind them. It sends a rush of hot air towards her face and her eyes are wide open in fear, when she notices a silhouette in the flames. A human form with a face not having anything in common with being one.

Darach.

When she directs her gaze at the brunette underneath her, she’s instantly consumed with terror of losing him. She almost let him die.

The fire brightens Stiles’ eyes, turning them into a liquid gold.

Now she can imagine how it feels to sacrifice herself to a friend. And she doesn’t want to know how a life without him would look like.

 

* * *

 

**Remember I love you.**

 

When Lydia runs into a warm night from McCall’s front porch, she giggles. A smile graces her face, her every step has a certain lightness in it. Feet easily jump across the pavement, her cardigan flows around her thighs.

She could swear she’s not the same girl she presents to the world every day.

Finally, she gets to the beaten up jeep and climbs into the passenger seat. Meanwhile Stiles steps outside the porch, his mouth twisted in an upside-down smile. He enters the car with a sigh and looks at her, before putting the key in the ignition. He’s been doing that alot lately - he wants to make sure she’s okay.

“Well… What are you waiting for?”, asks Lydia, gesturing at the key in his hand with her chin. There has to be something on his mind, because he can’t keep his eyes off her. Whatever it is, she doesn’t have to know, so she unceremoniously rests her legs against the dashboard. (If she wasn’t Lydia, she would already lose them.) “If you want to sleepover at Scott’s so bad, just give me the keys and I’ll drive myself back home”, she rises her eyebrow and this gets his attention.

“Jesus, Lydia”, he rolls his eyes and turns the car on. The engine coughs a few times, but Stiles is ruthless and presses the gas pedal. “You could just join us as well.”

“No way. I’ve had enough for today. I’m not playing Dance Central with you ever again.”

“You’re saying that because I beat you in the battle mode”

“Given the points we’ve gotten, I wouldn’t be so sure”, she responds, throwing her red locks behind her back.

“Has anyone ever cared about them?”, Stiles mumbles. “It’s about the _way_ you do dance.”

“Everyone dances differently, and since having a style is a personal matter, then _yes_ , there are people who care about them. Just accept your failure and move on.”

“Never”, he smirks. Classic Stiles. Stubborn as always.

They could be bickering back-and-forth for eternity, but Lydia decides to lay off a bit. She turns the radio on, which surprises him. Usually, when they drive together, they’re only accompanied by the sound of the engine - the music tends to wake up the voices in her head. Today they weren’t bugging her as much, though. It’s a small thing, but Stiles appreciates it anyway - she can see he’s touched by it.

“Are you sure?”, he asks, ready to turn the radio off any moment.

Lydia nods. “Today I’m in the mood for cursing at this stupid radio.”

Stiles laughs, his pink lips spreading in a smile. His gaze stays on her a little longer and then he focuses on the road. Lydia observes the neighbourhood, covered in the yellow light of street lamps. It makes them both glow and she likes the way her hair looks - like there are rays of sunshine attached to her head. In that moment, with Stiles changing gears beside her, she feels safe.

She comes back to reality when she hears him sing. He’s grasping the steering wheel with both hands, trying to be louder that the man on the radio, screaming _I once was fooled by cadillacs and honey, but no one feels like you, not like you, not like you._

Lydia stiffens and not because of his voice (he’s not that bad). It’s the lyrics that make the air seem heavier. Slightly terrified, she looks over at Stiles, searching for even the smallest sign that he’s doing it on purpose. He looks relaxed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

 

_And there are times I know when I will have to chase you_

_And the further from my side you go, the longing grows_

_And I will hate it, I still want you,_

_Cause I will hate it, but I still want you around_

 

When he glances at her, the whole tension disappears. There are sparks dancing in his eyes, the wind is ruffling his dark hair. And then there’s a familiar warmth spreading through Lydia’s whole body, travelling through her veins to her fingertips.

A small voice in her head whispers three words.

He’s one of the hardest cases she’s ever worked on. He was supposed to be an easy option. But when she genuinely got to know him, she discovered how multilayered he actually was. And despite building her walls up high, he still found cracks in them and slipped inside. Now, she has no clue how to kick him out. And does she really want to do that?

She’s never been able to stop trusting him completely. No matter how much she cried over him. Whenever she thought she finally lost him, he appeared by her side, carefully wrapping his arms around her, trying to give her comfort. But then he was gone, again, leaving her alone. And he took their friendship with him every time.

But slowly, he began to come back for good. With a shock on his face and fear in his eyes, seeing her bleed out on the Sheriff’s station floor. With her back glued to his chest and a shaky whisper in her ear against a wall in the Eichen House. In every finished sentence, trying to figure out how to defeat the never-ending nightmare haunting their lives.

And there were times when Lydia was furious, too. Because when she suspected that he still might have… felt something towards her, she had to remind herself that Stiles Stilinski’s heart wasn’t hers to keep anymore.

He came back. Bursting through the basement’s door, running to her like his life depended on it. Touching her sweaty forehead and saying quietly, his voice too soft and scratchy from screaming her name, _Lydia, please shut up and let me save your life_.

_Stiles saved me._

And he still makes her frustrated. She wonders what he’s waiting for. What is _she_ waiting for?

Is he scared just as much as she is?

Because Lydia is terrified of losing him again. She felt fear when his body gave up, making itself an easy target for the Nogitsune. She felt pain when he shared his bed with a girl who wasn’t her. She can’t imagine how would it hurt if he let go once again.

She loves him. She loves him so much that sometimes it feels like it’s going to eat her alive.

The car turns into her street and Lydia’s afraid of getting out of it. She doesn’t want to say “Good night” yet. She doesn’t want to act like she’s not going to see his face when she finally falls asleep.

Stiles kills the engine and the radio falls silent. They’re quiet for awhile and Lydia knows they’re both thinking about the same thing.

They take each other's faces in, not being able to look away. Years pass before Lydia shyly takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. She can’t hide anything now.

“Thank you”, she whispers and those words mean so much more than just her gratitude for the ride. She’s vulnerable.

She hopes the night will hide the fact that she’s opened herself in front of him.

But the problem is, he can see well in the dark.

Stiles stares at their joined hands and gently brushes her knuckle with his thumb. When his eyes look up into hers again, Lydia closes the distance between them and places a kiss on his cheek. A kiss too long to be considered only as friendly one.

One day, she’ll tell him. But for now, her lips pressed against his skin are the only thing she can give him.

 

* * *

 

**I think I loved him.**

 

Determination.

It has replaced her blood, encouraging her to make yet another move. It burns, flowing through her body, overshadowing every other emotion. At least this is how Lydia explains it to herself.

She prefers to feel this kind of pain than the one that came with the memory of him.

She stumbled in the darkness, trying to find the signs. Looking like a maniac in other people’s eyes. Slowly losing her mind. No one took her seriously. No one believed.

But then his voice, slightly changed by his old radio, desperately whispered her name.

So now she allows the determination to take over her. She needs a strong anesthesia. Something that will stop taking every breath feel like a challenge. Her gaze follows the red string, which makes its way through ink-stained pages and the meaningless pictures (they don’t mean much because his face is no longer in them).

She doesn’t close her eyes, because under her eyelids she sees the string wrapped around her fingertip and his fingers unwrapping it tenderly.

_You’ve been right every time something like this has happened. So don’t start doubting yourself now._

Canaan. The Riders. The Relicts. The Jeep. Canaan. The Riders. The Relicts. _Remember I love you._

Determination leaves her as soon as she looks at the evidence of their wasted time and swallows down her tears.

If only they weren’t so scared… If only they didn’t wait so long…

The weight of their lost days suddenly crushes her and everything is in the color of his eyes. His whisper vibrates in her ears and she feels his hot breath on her face.

Loving him is painful. Missing him suffocates her.

Before Lydia can realize what she’s doing, she’s madly tearing every photo from her board and the paper falls around her like confetti. She destroys it and cuts her finger, a red drop appearing on her skin. She doesn’t stop, though, and her sobs are getting louder until the board in front of her is empty.

When the last pin hits the carpet, the girl is breathing heavily, looking at the chaos she’s created. Eventually her knees give up and she collapses on the floor.

The blood has created a pattern on it, but the only thing she can see is the constellation on his cheek. The stains are soon joined by her tears.

“I love you”, she says. She tells him what she didn’t get to say before he was taken from her, with those four words hanging in the air.

Now there’s nothing left to do.

So she grabs her hair, pulling forcefully, takes a deep breath and screams, screams, screams. She screams until her throat protests in pain and she cannot make any sound no more.

 

Everything is over.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @/mieczyslyds on tumblr and @/mieczyslydias on twitter.


End file.
